


The Siren Song

by alittlefrenchtree



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Hey have you met me ?, SO. MANY. SUBTEXTS., Talking, and an unnamed "they", and maybe some - Freeform, that's all they do in this one actually, the armie x timmy is ambiguous as always, the boys talk a lot, there is also an unnamed "she"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlefrenchtree/pseuds/alittlefrenchtree
Summary: The working title on this one was : The Post Venice Mess story. This is all you need to know really. This and the tags.





	The Siren Song

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thank you to my amazing friend Lou 💕 All of the things that sound English in this story are thanks to her :D Merci, merci, merci, et tous les Tiploufs du monde sur ta tête.

<04:41AM> Fucking jet lag is killing me.

<04:42AM> Armie

<04:43AM> Why on Earth are you awake?

<04:43AM> Armie

<04:44AM> Tim ? What’s up ? You okay ?

<04:44AM> No

<04:45AM> You coming home through Rome, right?

<04:45AM> Think so

<04:48AM> Our usual place. Tonight.

***

Darkness cradles the room except for the moonlight shining a clear stripe through the curtains. 

Timmy is lying on the kingsize bed in a loose shirt and his boxers. He looks lost in thoughts, under the folds of the sheets, and in his own skin. Suddenly too little and too young for the body of the worshipped movie star that has become his own now.

Armie closes the door behind him without saying a word. He puts his overnight bag on the fancy furniture made for this purpose, takes his shirt off and switches his jeans for sweatpants. He crawls onto the bed, lies on his back, arms wide open for Timmy to settle right between them.

Timmy rushes to his side, his cheek fitting perfectly against Armie’s chest. A content sigh brushes past his lips and tickles Armie’s skin.

“I feel like I’ve been constantly watched since Monday and Monday seems to be fucking forever ago. And I’m supposed to be in Toronto in like— two seconds. It’s good to not feel eyes on me for a minute.”

Timmy’s voice is low and slow, like he’s ready to drift off to sleep any minute.

“Mine are on you right now.”

“Well, yours are allowed.”

Armie’s laugh barely disturbs the quiet in the room but the warmth of his breath touches Timmy’s curls. 

Timmy wishes he could feel it directly on his heart to calm his trembling beat.

For a while Armie thinks about letting Timmy fall asleep. He thinks about allowing his boy to enjoy the calm, the certainty of being protected and safe and let him rest, thinks about being his shelter in the storm that is the outside world for Timmy right now, like he always has been, like he always will be.

He decides against it.

“What the fuck happened, Tim?”

A deep sigh. A body shifting against another.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just talk to me. I’ll sort whatever messy nonsense comes out of your pretty mouth.”

“You asshole.”

“Not so pretty, it seems.”

A few more seconds fly away before Timmy speaks.

“I guess I should start with how anxious I get with everybody on a personal level. The more comfortable I am with professional meetings and interactions, the more into my head I crawl when shit gets personal. Always thinking that they wouldn’t have bat an eye in my direction if I wasn’t — you know.”

“Called the best actor of his generation?”

“Shut up.”

Timmy fists his hand and aims to hit Armie but his fingers wrap around Timmy's wrist stop him. Timmy drops his hand flat on Armie’s chest again. They both start to rub light circles into each other’s skin.

“But it’s not that she could be impressed by it, right? She must have liked something in me, liked the _real_ me.”

“You got your fame all confused, Chalamet.”

“What?”

Armie doesn't need to see Timmy's face to picture the look painting his features : eyebrows pinchedand nose all wrinkled in a puzzle expression.

“There is no real you or fake you. There is just one you. You talk about your fame like it’s something bad or something you should be ashamed of, like you’ve become famous because of something that wasn’t thanks to you. But people don’t know who you are because you did stupid shit on a reality tv show or because of a fucking sex tape, or even because you’re the kid of some celebrity. You’re famous because you’re fucking talented and because you’re an inspiration in every area of this business — to not only your generation but to each and every one before and after you. Of course people will look at you because of that, Timmy. It’s not wrong.”

Armie pauses and thinks about how he could make Timmy see what he sees when he looks at him.

“Imagine… I don’t know. Imagine you’re at a party. Nobody’s famous, nobody knows who you are. You don’t know anyone, but someone tells you this person right there who looks good and friendly is also the most amazing human being you will ever meet in your life. Wouldn’t you want to talk to them? Get to know them better?”

“I— I guess I would, yeah.”

“That’s what happens with you as well. People want to know you because they already know you’re amazing. Being famous just means that more people know about your amazingness. Of course there will be people trying to use you or what you represent now, to take advantage of your flaws because fame also means that more people know about them as well. But frankly, they aren’t so subtle that you won’t be able to see right through them.”

Timmy considers Armie’s words for a moment, contemplates them from every angle, twirls them in his mind to make sense out of them and tries to believe what Armie is saying.

“So you think I should trust her?”

“I don’t know, Timmy. I barely know the girl, even if some people love to pretend I do. I know there are a lot of people who shouldn’t be trusted. But I also know there are a lot of people who fall genuinely in love with you. And in your case, I don’t know which predominates. I think you should just talk to her, figure things out.”

Armie pauses to make sure Timmy is carefully listening.

“But that’s not what’s important right now.”

“It isn’t?”

“How do you feel?”

“Right now?” Timmy smiles. “Good.”

“I am not talking about how you feel in my arms, Timmy.”

“Oh.”

He blushes. His smile fades and he tries again.

“I— Horrible, I guess? I don’t know. I felt like shit and started to question everything without even knowing why and then you texted and I did the best thing I know when I'm lost — I run to you.”

Timmy moves impossibly closer to Armie and nuzzles his shoulder before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. As Armie tightens his embrace, he curses everything that makes their job so fucked up. Anything making Timmy feel like he is something less than wonderful should be burnt into ashes, if you ask him.

“Do you still recognize yourself?” Armie inquires quietly. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes? And no? At the same time and for both? …shit — I don’t know, man. I really don’t know anymore.”

“What about Frank Ocean?”

“What about him?”

“Wasn’t he one of your road maps? The way he handles himself, his private life, the mystery, keeping himself out of the glam or some shit like that?”

For a few seconds, Timmy's face remains still. His stare is blank, his eyelids blink slowly before his whole face shifts at the same time.

“Oh my god,” he exhales.

His eyes widen, his breathing suddenly short.

“Oh my god,” he gasps a little louder.

Timmy sits up then stands without thinking, loses his balance and nearly falls off the bed. He somehow manages to land on his two feet. He looks at Armie, still sitting with a look of pure horror on his face. 

“I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?” He pulls at his hair, starts to pace back and forth around the entire room while an uncontrollable torrent of words falls off his mouth.

“I mean I just… I wanted to live my life, you know? Show that I still can, show that I can have it all. And I like her. I mean we’re not together or anything but I like her. She’s nice and when they ask us to ‘publicly hang out together’, she says it will be fun, that this is how it is for people like us. You just live your life and you don’t care about who may see or what people think or say because you'll drive yourself crazy if you do. And it made sense at the time, I suppose? I mean I don’t have to answer to anyone about who I kiss or not, right? But fuck. None of this is actually _me_. I just… I wanted so badly for people to see that movie. I worked so hard on it. You know how fucking difficult everything about this project was. You must have known, giving the insane number of times I called or facetimed you that summer. Do you remember how many times I came close to dropping everything and just come back home? Hanging out with a nice girl wasn’t even a price to pay since I was already doing it! If it meant more people were going to hear about the movie and watch it… Why should I say no? Netflix — they work that way. You have to be in people’s mind when they scroll on their screen to decide what they're going to watch. You have to be in their mind so they talk about you and your movie. But that’s not me. I mean, letting the world know where am I on a so-called day off? Putting on a show on a boat in front of paps with a co-star three fucking days after our big premiere? God, what was I thinking? I’m so fucking STUPID— and now everybody knows I am.”

Armie stops listening to Timmy’s words the moment he spots the first signs of panic. Timmy is his worst enemy right now and Armie needs to keep his thoughts from spiraling down, to anchor him to the present and bring his boy back to him.

“Timmy, hey. Come back here.”

Timmy stops as soon as he hears Armie’s plea. He stops talking, stops pacing and even stops thinking as he walks back to Armie. He watches Armie grab one of his hips and plant a kiss on the patch of skin the hem of his shirt has failed to cover.

“Breathe for me.” Timmy immediately takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Armie smiles at him.“You’re not stupid. You’re 23, still new to this and the sirens of fame are sneakily tricky. It’s not only about saying no to an overpaid commercial to sell toothpaste. Sometimes it will be presented to you as the thing you always wanted, the exact opportunity you dreamed about when you were a kid, lying on your bed and counting the plastic stars on your ceiling. No one says no to that.”

Armie sighs and silently asks Timmy to sit down next to him with a tug on his hip. His voice softens when he speaks again. “There will be so many traps and wrong turns along the way. You can’t avoid them all. God knows I didn’t. And I didn’t have to face half the shit you’re going through when I was your age.”

They lay down again and Timmy finds his place back in Armie’s arms. They remain silent while Armie makes sure Timmy’s breathing is back to normal. He even pets Timmy’s curls because it always helped and takes his time before speaking again, carefully choosing his words.

“Was it only for the movie?”

“What?”

“That you agreed to publicly hang out?”

“They say… They say it would be good for the both of us. That I needed that kind of fame or image or whatever if I wanted to take the next step. I’m too much of a ghost otherwise. People don’t hear about me outside of premieres and award ceremonies. And she needed to…”

“…be linked to an Oscar nominee in order to help start her acting career?”

“Something like that, yeah. That’s also why I said yes. I’m always chasing after that, after something more, either bigger or more challenging or… I don’t know. But that thing I can’t touch has morphed into a frustrating itch because I’m helpless to even define it. I just know I want it and won’t be fully satisfied until I find it. I haven’t stop looking since…” He doesn’t finish, tries to switch to another thought — too quickly for Armie not to notice.

“Since when?”

Timmy hides his face in the crook of Armie’s neck and dares himself to find a way to melt into his golden skin within the next two seconds so he doesn’t have to answer.

“Since the Oscars night. I know it’s stupid, okay? I know. But I can’t help myself.”

Timmy sighs then props himself up on his elbow, looking at Armie. “It was so much easier when it was just you and I, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” Their eyes meet for a second. Timmy presses a kiss to Armie’s cheek before letting himself fall on his back, their shoulders still touching.

“She’s not wrong, you know?…to a certain point, at least,” Armie says after a moment.

“What point?”

“You know I’m all about living my life without giving a shit, even if I fail more times than I would like to admit. But ‘people like us’?” Timmy hears the brackets in Armie’s voice. “Really? That’s fucking rich and the most condescending shit I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard quite a lot, since I’m a rich and condescending douchebag myself. Besides, you and her aren’t the same. Like — at all. Acting doesn’t mean the same to the two of you. I’m not saying she’s not serious about this, because she seems to be — for now at least. But… Timmy, you’ve dreamed your whole life about it. You’ve worked hard for it and you still do. You’ve studied, you’ve trained. You’ve forged yourself as an actor through theater, which is way harder than anything else. You’ve put your health in danger. This is how serious you are about acting. Acting is who you are, Timmy. You didn’t just wake up one day thinking you could give it a shot. She’s not like you. You’re not a famous name living in a bubble. You know the other side. And you care. You fucking care.”

Armie’s eyes wander back to Timmy, studying his face. Who needs books and movies and stories when you can just lay there and watch everything worth anything happen on a single face? It feels like witnessing cells divide and stars collide at the same time. On the same scale. It is everything and yet nearly invisible, before being gone in the blink of an eye. Armie twists his favorite of Timmy’s curls around his finger and tucks it behind his ear. Timmy is back in his arms in no time.

“She can’t possibly be using me, right?” Timmy softly asks after a couple of minutes. “There are people screaming her name too, loving her. Millions of followers on her Instagram account. Fan pages with ridiculous names. She doesn’t need me. She’s still my friend.” He forces himself into confidence but the silence that follows makes him raise his head.

“…oh God you think I’m wrong. You think she’s using me.”

Armie lets out a sigh. He wishes for someone else to have this talk with Timmy, wonders how the very few hours they get to have together are always so heavy — in one way or another. He asks for the universe to bring him his happy and carefree boy back, if only for a day or two.

“Well, first — nobody likes a legacy. I should know, I am one. So whatever kind of reaction she generates is nothing compared to… whatever is the thing you do to respectable people that makes them go crazy.” Armie tickles one of Timmy’s side and basks in the sound of the laugh he loves almost more than anything. Knowing he has any kind of control over something this beautiful makes him feel so powerful. And lucky — yeah, so goddamn lucky too.

“But things aren’t just black and white.” Armie continues, tightening his embrace around Timmy’s body. “She could both be your friend and not even realize that she — I don’t know how to put it. Has become addicted not to you, but to the feeling that comes with hanging out with you?”

“What? I’m not following.”

“Timmy, people know who she is but they _love_ you. They adore you even. Thousands of people worship every single one of your steps. That’s something no one can buy, least of all work on. You either have it or you don’t even if it doesn't stop you from enjoying it, when you’re flying close enough to someone to be caught into their magical orbit. People start looking at you in a way they never did, to love you in a way they never did. And I’m not only talking about, you know, fans. I’m talking about everyone. Actors and actresses, waiters and waitresses, directors, designers, literally everyone.”

Armie pauses, partly to reflect on his own memories and to think about how to phrase his next thought, something he has never verbalized before.

“I didn’t understand at first, how you managed to look like you’re shining all the time, brighter than anybody around you. But this was it. Normal for you, Timmy, is the fucking highest trip for regular people like us. But unlike you, we’re always on the clock, waiting for the next fix of your presence, dreading the time you’ll go away, forcing us into sobriety. The fall for us is… Well it's not a fall, that’s the problem. It’s a crash.”

Armie usually likes the silence. This isn’t a luxury he can enjoy very often so he has learned to appreciate the steadiness of the quiet. He doesn’t like this one. It stretches for too long, empties him of his certainties. Maybe this is him, only projecting his own experience onto others. What does he know about anything, anyway?

“I can’t — I can’t take any of that into consideration.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because that would mean I believe it. And I can’t. I just can’t. It’s not real."

Armie goes to speak again but Timmy shakes his head. “Please.” Tears glisten in his eyes. “I don’t want to be some mystical creature nobody can reach. I don’t. I feel so goddamn alone when people talk about me like that. So please don’t. Not _you_.”

Emotional exhaustion is crushing on Timmy. Everything that happened since Monday — the press conference, the interviews, the red carpet, the premiere, the good and the bad reviews, everything since then and this demanding conversation with Armie — it all suddenly feels too much, too heavy on him. He needs something else to focus on.

“Did you feel that? When we were together? I mean — you know when we...”

“...when we were spending 24/7 glued to one another for 18 months? Yeah. Of course I felt that.”

“Did you... Did you crash as well?” His voice is small, almost childish. The voice of someone who doesn’t know they already are strong enough to harm.

“I did. But that’s ok, it wasn’t exactly my first rodeo around here. Plus, I got to keep you after which none of this other motherfucker did,” Armie smirks ferocious pride coloring his tone, and one second later there is only softness left in his voice. “And having you — having what we have right here between us — is a thousand times better than any rush of adrenaline I felt walking by your side on a red carpet.”

“I can’t wait to do it again.” 

It is Timmy’s turn to press against Armie’s body. Their legs tangled, he uses his toes to scratch the skin of Armie’s ankle like his own. Then, without looking, he stretches his arm behind him.

Armie doesn’t understand what Timmy is trying to do until he finally grabs his phone on the nightstand. He looks very pleased to have succeeded without removing a single inch of himself from Armie’s body. Before he unlocks his screen, Armie sees a scary amount of notifications : missed calls and text messages. Timmy ignores them all and only checks the setting time for his morning alarm — only a few hours away.

“Fuck— we’ve been here for over an hour and we only talked about me. I’m sorry. How are things with you?”

“Not so good either.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Timmy grits his teeth to swallow his yawn. Armie smiles at his effort to keep his eyes open.

“Not really. There’s nothing much left to say in my case, anyway. I shouldn’t even have told you. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be here either but, fuck it.”

“The kids are good though, right?” The concern is so genuine in Timmy’s words Armie can’t help the rush of love that, without warning, overwhelms him. Timmy’s nature is inherently kind and there isn’t much else to say about him.

“They are. They’re the best. And they’re tough, more than I am.”

“That’s… cool, at least. I guess.” Timmy yawns again, this time without being able to repress it.

“We should try to sleep. You’re dead on your feet. Or on me, actually.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A dozen minutes passes. Fifteen or twenty, Armie isn't sure. He is almost certain he is going to spend the night scrutinizing the ceiling and smoothing Timmy’s curls on his nape. For a while, Armie thinks Timmy fell asleep until he hears his breath shiver. When Armie hears his voice, he doesn’t immediately understand why his own heart shatters. It isn't about Timmy’s words but about the way he says them — the same tone Timmy used so early in their relationship, when he was already asleep in his arms — with the voice of a twenty-year-old actor, terrified to lead for the first time.

“You’ll stay with me? Even if I become a joke and an actor nobody wants to hire?”

Armie laughs. “You mean, like me?”

“Shut up.” Timmy goes to nudge Armie’s side but kisses his shoulder instead. “Everybody loves you and the ones who deny it are obsessed with you, either because they’re jealous or because they can’t stand the fact that you make them reflect on their own flaws.”

“You won’t become a joke, Timmy.”

“But what if I do? You’d stay, right? Even if everyone else leaves?”

“I’d stay. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“Ok.”

Armie feels Timmy nod.

“I’ll be fine then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @tpmbouquins on tumblr if you want to talk. Or yell.


End file.
